


Better than Fiction

by Spicy_Salt



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Time, Incubus Keith, M/M, Renaissance Aesthetic, Virgin Lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28235610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spicy_Salt/pseuds/Spicy_Salt
Summary: Lance has been ready to lose his virginity since his eighteenth birthday - but he's picky. He wants a suitor comparable to the ones he reads about - someone magical and cryptic and undoubtedly romantic. (Spoilers, he gets one).
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 813





	Better than Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> There's a certain kinda vibe I was going for with this but honestly idek what it is. Just...please enjoy horny virgin lance and his cryptid fetish. He's very smutty.

When Lance receives his carnation, the decision isn’t difficult. Of _course_ he’s going to pick the petals off and place them in a satin drawstring pouch to return to the windowsill for his suitor. 

It’s pristine. 

As is his particularly extravagant bedtime routine. 

The bath is warm and commonplace, but the misty spritzes of rosewater are special for tonight. The fingers he works into himself in preparation are prudent. The creamy lace and silk he adorns himself in will finally see moonlight instead of the dusty rays of sun that he only subjects them to when he’s feeling lustful and longing and dressing himself up so he can fantasize about finally being admired. 

And as difficult as it is to sometimes resist, he doesn’t touch himself when he wears them. Has kept them clean and unsullied and it’s finally paying off, because he was lucky enough to be found. And tonight the perfect, pristine, well-attended nightgown he’s been harbouring since his eighteenth birthday will finally be removed - torn and tattered if he’s lucky - so that he can be appreciated all on his own. 

It’s been a long time coming - or at least he feels like it has. Three years of waiting and hoping and refusing the men his mother introduces him to because he’s been holding out for _this._ For something magical and cryptic and undoubtedly romantic. To be swept off his feet and eaten up like the most delicate of desserts and fucked out of his idealistic mind, and it’s _finally going to happen._

The waiting might be rough, but he _knows_ it will be worth it, so he doesn’t mind keeping his wine corked, sinking further into his oversized down pillows while he watches the wind wrap itself in his curtains at the open, inviting window. 

  
  


He doesn’t mean to fall asleep. 

Truly, honestly, does _not_ mean to fall asleep. 

But he’s glad he does. 

Because when he stirs it’s to a weight sinking into the mattress at his knees. When he opens his eyes and rubs them awake, his candles are all snuffed out except for the one at his bedside table, casting warm shadows over the pair of dark lavender eyes staring down at him. 

It’s dreamlike, something out of one of his novels. Has his heart racing but he’s surprisingly comfortable. His voice doesn’t shake when he speaks, because he knows he’s already wanted. 

“Thank you for the flower,” makes sure to use his trained and practiced well-mannered lilt. 

Those purple eyes watch him, unblinking, observing, darting down at the bedsheets when his suitor responds. 

“Thank you for returning it.” 

Oh, that voice is liquid honey, deep and husky and only _just_ not human. But it’s soft, too. Unsure. Nervous? 

Lance expected himself to be the shy one, but here, in his bed, furry hoofed legs frozen mid crawl on top of him, his incubus is hesitating. Those doe-like ears are folding, angling away from him underneath large curved horns, and how can something built to be intimidating act so cute?

Lance _didn’t_ expect the indecision - figured he’d be naked and messy by now. But the sweetly awkward silence gives him a moment to wake up, remember his wine. 

“Here, I read you like this, right?” 

His beast isn’t the only one to perk up slightly at the idea, because things aren’t going according to Lance’s imagination, and he could definitely use a bit of loosening up. Feels his muscles relaxing at the sound it makes when it hits the glass. 

“Thank you,” husky liquid honey responds to the offer. Clawed nails brush against Lance’s trimmed proper ones as they accept the cup. 

Fuck, what does he have to do to get those nails digging into his thighs? 

“You’re...different than I expected…” Lance makes sure to stay polite with it, speaks into the rim of his glass as he holds it against his lips. 

“Oh…” Good God, that sweet disappointment is _precious._ “I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s not a bad thing.” Although he definitely wouldn’t complain about a little more manhandling right about now. “I just...I didn’t expect you to be so polite.” 

He didn’t mean it as an insult, but the little twitch of those fuzzy ears makes him wonder if it’s received as one. “What do you want me to do?” 

Well, isn’t _that_ an interesting question. 

“I…” It trips him up a little, makes him take a pause and think on it because his answer could determine the rest of the evening. But his novels have prepared him well. “I want you to do…" They have him slipping into a facade that's only slightly unauthentic with how much they've shaped his personality. "Whatever you were thinking of doing to me when you left that carnation on my window sill.” 

He watches it sink in with a smile. Watches those pretty lavender eyes blink and then dart up to him with poorly masked hunger swimming away in blown pupils. 

Yes, fuck, _that’s_ what he’s talking about. 

He can feel his pulse picking up like clockwork when his incubus leans forward a bit, almost involuntary, like he’s holding himself back, but Lance doesn’t want him to. 

Is more than happy to egg him on, calculated and careful and well-read on the subject as he teases the lust out with a steadily growing smile. 

“What were you thinking of?” He whispers it close, but not too close. Leaves enough room for those wine red lips to chase after him. 

“Of...your mouth….” 

It’s almost too easy to draw attention where he bites at his own bottom lip. Works as perfectly as it does in his books at leading his sweet, shy beast down on top of him - still hovering. Still polite and hesitant, but he’s so clearly entranced, and Lance has never felt this sexy. 

“And what would you like to do with my mouth?” 

“T….taste it…” 

Lance could so easily push forward. Could so easily catch a kiss from where he’s sunken into his pillows again, but he wants to coerce. Wants to get those fangs biting at his neck and claiming him like he knows they want to. 

“So come taste it, then.” 

It’s straightforward and commanding but he makes sure to keep it polite. Makes sure not to chase it too much as those dark lips hover over his. Makes sure his lover has to take it for himself when they finally kiss. 

And it’s softer than Lance thought it would be. Gentle and held back, but when he cards his fingers through wild black hair and pulls himself closer, it gets a warm, tentative tongue licking into his mouth. It gets the weight of another body finally pressing into him. It gets a clawed hand distractedly spilling red wine all over his pristine nightgown and kiss swollen lips pulling away. 

“Oh- oh no I’m sor-” 

But Lance doesn’t care. 

He closes the space between them before it can grow because he’s _supposed_ to get ruined tonight - and the red trickling down his stomach and across his chest has him feeling dirty in the most appropriate way. 

It gets him kissing hard now, blunt fingernails raking at tough shoulder blades, knees bending so they can squeeze fuzzy fawn legs closer into himself, finally revealing how desperate he really is. 

But even in his desperation, he’s left wanting when surprised lips break away again, but just barely - just enough for sweet glowing eyes to stare down at him. It’s brief, but it’s a moment. 

He watches it unfold from his silk pillow, the surprise, the hesitation, and finally, the surrender. 

“What’s your name?” It’s warm liquid honey against his lips, hovering, waiting - but he can tell they’re almost there. 

“Lance.” 

“I’m Keith.” 

There’s another beat of silence, but it’s not hesitant or awkward this time. This time, it’s appreciative, an excuse for them to brush lips without kissing yet. 

“Lance,” that liquid honey is different, now. Decisive, more confident, gets Lance hard and aching against lace underwear. “I’m gunna fuck you tonight.” 

There are a million things he could say back - because Keith is waiting for his response. His novels would tell him to smile and whisper “I’m counting on it.” His manners would have him say “yes, please.” But all he can manage is a weak, submissive “okay,” because he’s suddenly at the mercy of a wild thing. 

It makes it easy to relinquish control when Keith buries the back of his head into the pillow with a kiss again. Has him humming against harsh lips when those claws drag up his thigh and hold his hips close for a tight heavy grind. 

He’s fucking _leaking_ into silk and lace because he can feel Keith’s dick now, hard and huge and rutting against his through the thin layer of virginal gowns that he can’t _wait_ to be rid of. It has excited tingles running through him, has his heart pounding but not at all out of fear. 

Because Keith is sitting up now, and he’s a work of art _._ Gorgeous and nightmarish and stretching his dark thin wings out while he rolls his hips against the white silk still separating them. 

He reaches, unhurried and decisive for the half full bottle of wine on the bedside table so he can take a sip and then hold it out in front of him. And Lance is beginning to think it's true what they say about incubi and wine because the hesitation is gone - Keith is confident and patient and sexy as hell when he tips the bottle over to stain the rest of Lance's nightgown. 

It has him huffing out a gasp, wincing in surprise when cool red liquid splashes onto his face, but it’s hotter than anything he’s ever read - made even more so by the unhurried claws that follow to rip through ruined, wet fabric. 

They’re domineering now, breaking his skin - but not enough to hurt. They hate his nightgown as much as he does. Happily reduce it to a pile of torn, stained tatters once Keith throws it to the ground to pout at the lace underwear still separating him from the good bits. 

But he’s not tasteless. 

He loves on Lance’s wet, sticky chest with contrastingly soft kisses. Works his way up to make out a little bit and then back down to leave fanged bite marks trailing over his body. Gives Lance a show he didn’t think could exist outside of fiction. 

Because it’s what Lance expected and then some, but those lavender eyes still flick up to him every now and again in a silent inspection to affirm that he’s enjoying it - and Lance doesn’t leave room for doubt. 

Watches it all unfold with heavy eyelids and parted lips. Grabs at whatever he can reach because he wants to feel Keith, too. 

He wants to steady his hands at the base of those horns and savour the open mouthed kisses to his stomach as gentle claws slowly strip him of his underwear, trailing down, down, down his hips until he’s free, and then up up up the inside of his thighs to meet Keith’s mouth where he swallows him down and bobs his head and-

“ _Ohhh-hoh my God-”_ it feels _amazing._

It’s not just Keith’s _voice_ that’s warm liquid honey, it’s his whole mouth. It’s sweet and wet and moving around him like it’s his profession - but what the hell did Lance expect from a sex demon? 

It has heat swirling low and fast in the pit of his stomach, has his hips bucking up off the mattress, leaning into it, and he can’t even gather enough self respect to be embarrassed by how exposed he is because it’s all-encompassing - doesn’t give him _room_ to be self conscious. 

And he’s fucking _thankful_ for it because if he wasn’t hornier than he’s ever been in his life and a little bit drunk, he’d be mortified at the tongue that abandons his cock to lick down his balls and tease at his hole. 

Even after the bath and the rose water and the prudent fingering he’d be worried he missed something, but that isn’t even a passing thought with how Keith’s licking circles around and around and around and then he’s pushing - sliding in - nosing even closer until his face is smothered in Lance’s unmentionables so he can fuck his tongue shallow and slow and leaving Lance throbbing for more. 

His books didn’t prepare him for this. 

His education didn’t prepare him for this. 

Not even his imagination could have prepared him for this. 

This is reality, it’s real, tangible claws against his skin, real eyes drinking him in when Keith lifts his head up and parts Lance’s legs so he can settle himself into position. 

It’s when Lance sees it for the first time - Keith’s dick. It trips him up a little, gets him sucking a wide eyed inhale that catches Keith’s attention. 

“Is this okay?”

He’s more chivalrous than any of the men Lance has been made to meet. Hugs his heart with nothing but a concerned gaze and three easy words. Gets him blinking up to those sweet eyes and nodding with a reassuring smile. 

“More than okay.” 

He schools his voice, schools his face, schools the heavy pulse pounding in his ears when he feels Keith line himself up and lean into it - because he’s not pushing yet. Keeps his hips still and watches Lance’s reaction but it’s fine because Lance is schooling himself even though he might be _freaking out a little bit_ because _this is it._

He’s going to fuck, he’s finally _finally_ going to get it and he’s excited and nervous and scared and shaking - no, no he’s not supposed to be shaking. 

Keith takes one look at his trembling thighs and pouts. Furrows his brows and fucking _pouts_ at Lance. 

“You’re not okay.” 

  
It really has no right to make his heart flutter. 

“I’m fine, just a little chilly.” It’s not a complete lie. The autumn breeze is definitely cold against his wine soaked skin. 

Keith stares down at him with cute, over analytical eyes. Hesitates like he seems to do with everything before getting up to close the window. 

It’s strange to watch. 

His legs bend like a fawn but he walks upright, the rhythm is different from a person; slower, covering more ground with each stride. It’s hypnotizing in the strangest way and Lance is too distracted to notice that he’s not shaking anymore. 

He’s calm when Keith returns to the bed - slow and heavy and reaching down so he can lift Lance up until he’s sitting on warm soft fur, straddling Keith’s thighs, face to face now. Watches with interest as Keith stretches his wings and wraps the two of them up until they’re pressed close, skin against skin against wing against fur. 

It’s warm and cozy and smells like rainwater and cedar trees when Keith’s nose brushes over his, breath warm on his lips when he says it. 

“Is this better?” 

It’s the sweetest thing that Lance never expected. Has him chuckling in spite of himself and leaning into soft lips. 

“It’s perfect.” 

The short, sweet nip of a kiss melts his heart. 

“Can I fuck you, now?” 

“Yeah.” 

Keith leads the shift in position. If he’s true to tradition, this should be his first time as well, but he sits Lance up and sinks him down on his cock like it’s second nature - which it very well may be. 

It has Lance’s senses clouding over, has him _reeling_ \- eyes rolling until all he can see is the static on the back of his eyelids. His mouth is dropping open on held breath - his ears are ringing - his toes are curling - and that’s when he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he needs this every night. 

Because it hurts, but in the most amazing way. Fills him up like it was made for him and him alone. Has him steadying himself, forehead to Keith’s shoulder while he adjusts to the feeling. And Keith waits. 

He waits for Lance to roll his hips experimentally with a shaky little whine. Waits for him to figure out what angle he wants it from before following suit with short, gentle thrusts that get his whole body pitching up a little. 

It’s nothing like his novels - doesn’t have thoughts of romance and ecstasy dancing in his mind like he was led to believe, because he’s blanking. All he knows are Keith’s increasingly enthusiastic hips. All he can hear is the hungry, pulsing heat inside him. All he can do is grab onto those horns, sit himself up, and bounce on Keith's dick like his body's telling him he needs to. 

And when two firm, commanding hands come to guide his hips, Lance melts. His hands drop from horns to shoulders, his spine goes slack, falling against supportive wings because Keith found…. _something_. Lance doesn’t even know what it is but Keith’s dick is hitting it with Every. Single. Thrust. And it’s sending tidal waves of white hot pleasure through his entire body. 

It’s nothing like his novels. 

It’s so much better. 

It’s got him seeing stars. It’s got Keith growling where he bites at Lances neck and _that’s_ got Lance gasping. He wants to be bitten bloody, wants Keith's claws to leave marks where they dig into his thighs. 

His world spins, dizzy and slow until he feels the soft silk of his pillow replacing Keith’s wings underneath him. It gets him blindly reaching for something to grab - ears, horns, hair, he doesn’t care because Keith’s hips haven’t stopped - don’t give him a second to breathe while they settle into the new position and Lance needs grounding. 

He needs to blink his eyes open and dig his nails into the muscular forearms pushing on his shins. Needs to watch as Keith towers above him, folding his knees up to his shoulders so he can snap his hips, and stretch his twitching wings out, and fuck like he was made for it. 

It’s a fucking sight to behold. It’s a _sensation_ to behold, and Lance is struggling hard between drinking in the view and giving in to the mind numbing pleasure. Doesn’t even want to think about the face he’s making because he doubts it’s pretty but who can blame him? He’s got a _fucking incubus_ buried balls deep in his ass, rearranging his insides and punching the most obscene moans out of him that he has no doubt everyone and their mother would be able to hear if the window was still open. 

But he’s not alone. Keith is getting loud now, too. Is finally breaking his gaze to squeeze his eyes shut and hunch over with a short, cute grunt that turns into a growl. He bares his teeth like an animal and digs his claws into Lance’s legs and snaps his hips harder, faster than Lance thought he could handle. 

“You...feel good,” It’s a struggle for him to get out, low and deep in his throat and sending shivers down Lance’s spine. 

He wants to return the sentiment, but Keith’s newfound enthusiasm gets him surrendering to his body. Couldn’t keep his eyes open if he wanted to, couldn’t make a sound to save his life. He white knuckles the bed sheets as one of Keith’s clawed hands drops to his dick with quick snappy flicks of his wrist that match the quick snappy thrust of his hips. 

It gets a new kind of heat starting to pool, building up quick and urgent, and different from what Lance has felt before. Something his fingers could only ever give him a fraction of, but now he’s got the whole thing. Now he’s tipping over, every muscle in his body lit up while he rides out the best orgasm he’s ever had. 

It stifles his lungs, freezes him in place, tense and doubling up until it breaks - pulses through him over and over again as he chokes out a loud, desperate moan that doesn’t even sound like his voice. He paints himself a hot, sticky mess, wine and cum and Keith’s love marks covering his chest. 

It’s dirty, it’s dirty, it’s so dirty, and he loves it. Loves that all he can do is twitch and gasp when Keith’s hips stutter against him, pushing pushing pushing further in until he’s cumming - fucking _filling_ Lance up and dripping out, warm and wet and pooling between his legs and Lance was _so_ hoping he’d get cummed in tonight. 

It finishes everything off with lingering aftershocks working over him. Even when time starts ticking again and he feels Keith bending down, shy and sweet and kissing at his neck, Lance's body hangs onto the orgasm, refuses to let go, trembles at the faint ghost waves of pleasure still coursing through him. 

But the arms that wrap around his waist are grounding. They hug him tight and pull him back into reality until he hugs back. 

“Are you okay?” It’s close against his ear, warm and soft and liquid honey. 

It stirs his feelings and hugs his heart and turns his breathy panting into stifled sobs. “Mhm.” 

“You’re crying.” Keith’s concern is blunt and honest and everything Lance wants, but-

“It’s good crying.” It’s the best crying. The kind where everything is so full he just needs to let it out, because he doesn’t want to go back to reality. Wants to stay here forever, safe and comfortable and warming Keith’s limp cock with his ass. 

Doesn’t know what to do with himself now, because his nightgown is ruined like he wanted it to be, and he’s been fucked out of his idealistic mind like _he_ wanted to be, and it was everything he _hoped_ it would be and then some.

But it’s over now. 

And he doesn’t want it to be. 

Maybe it’s _not_ good crying. 

Maybe the sweet open mouthed kisses Keith is trailing from his neck to his lips are a little bitter, too. Maybe the fingers Lance cards through messy black hair while they make out is to keep Keith close. To keep him from leaving like Lance read he would do after they’re done. 

He didn’t think about after they’re done. 

“I don’t want you to leave.” He says it prematurely. Before Keith has a chance to get there first. Waits for those lavender eyes to drop open and blink down at him, calm and serious when he replies. 

“I don’t want to leave.” 

It’s unexpected, but not really. Something his books would argue, but his reality should've forseen, because Keith’s not like his novels. Keith is better. Keith brushes tears away with his thumb as Lance huffs out a relieved little chuckle in spite of himself, watering eyes darting between lavender ones.

“Why did you leave me that flower?” 

It’s something he’s been wondering since he received it. Something that stalls Keith’s movements, processing the question with a fluttery blink. 

“I see you.” Husky liquid honey answers him, shy and embarrassed, but blunt nonetheless. “In the daytime, when you play piano and dress up pretty and read your books, you always look like you enjoy them...I wanted to read them with you...and at night, when you open the window and touch yourself...I wanted to do that with you, too….” 

It works its way past Lance’s brain, into his heart. 

He knows what he’s doing when he touches himself at the open window - definitely has ulterior motives, but he didn’t know he was on display during the day, too. Didn’t expect Keith to care about his life or his hobbies - not to mention wanting to partake in them. 

“And…” apparently he’s not finished, buries his face in the pillow beside Lance for this one. “And when those men visit you with flowers and fancy clothes...I...I want to be one of them. I want to eat, and dance, and play with you like they get to.” 

He can feel the smile working its way out of him, fond and infatuated as he circles his fingers at the back of Keith’s neck. “I’d much rather it be you.” 

Keith stalls again. Slowly lifts his head up with wide, surprised eyes pouring into his soul. “Really?” It’s hesitant, whispered. The sweetest thing Lance has ever heard. 

“Mhm.” 

He can practically see the gears turning while Keith thinks, prepares. His swallow is thick before he speaks with the most sinful honesty. “I want you.” 

Now _this_ , Lance’s novels did prepare him for. _This_ , he can handle with confidence.

“You’ve got me.” 

  
  


Lance wakes up alone. Naked and sticky and disheveled, exactly where he’d fallen asleep in Keith’s arms. 

His nightgown is still tattered and stained on the floor. 

His body is still bitten bruised. 

And he would be disappointed, if not for the bundle of peonies waiting for him on his window sill.

**Author's Note:**

> Nearly forgot to include this but, fun fact I learned while researching flowers; carnations represent lust & peonies represent marriage, so when Keith leaves the carnation he's just like "hey let's bone" but when he leaves the peonies he's like "I think I'm love you pls marriage me."


End file.
